A Question of Trust
by Nika Dixon
Summary: Sometimes the answers we seek are harder to find than the questions we want to ask. R/K pre-ship.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:** This short little story popped into my head a couple weeks back and I had to share. It's definitely R/K -- but leans more towards the beginning, tentative stages of their relationship. It's short - maybe only 4 chapters... just a little scene/snippet of a possibility. :) I'll have the next chapters up asap (I just need to beta them). It takes place sometime after Quarantine. - Nika_

* * *

Jennifer hadn't meant to fall asleep.

She'd just been so tired.

Too much to do, too much to gather. Questions stirred through her mind with a dizzying spin. She couldn't stop replaying. Analyzing. Running through the what-if's, why's, how's, and half a dozen other nerve induced queries.

She tried to settle on the answers for herself. She was a smart girl. Genius level in her own right. She could figure it out. How hard could it be?

But with each silent nod of her head a negative shake would follow.

She had a world of questions and no idea where to even start.

The urge to talk to someone ate away at her resolve until there was only one person her drained and addled mind wanted to hear. There were others who would know the answer, but only one who's answer she wanted to know. One person who's comfort she sought with a yearning she didn't understand. One person who's strength and command she needed to touch, even if only for the briefest moment in time.

Ronon.

He was due back within the hour - but an hour was all she had.

She fought with herself. Argued his need over hers. He would probably want to relax, not be pestered with questions. The niggling guilt ripped circles through her abdomen as she fought to trample down the fear. In a brief moment of adrenaline fueled panic she admitted to herself there was one thing she really, really had to ask.

And in asking, she would reveal everything.

Yet there was no way she was going to chance talking to anyone else. Some already thought her weak. This would only prove them right. He would be honest. He would be nonjudgmental. He would give her an answer with truth. So she promised herself she wouldn't bother him – wouldn't stay long – just ask the single most important question and then leave.

She'd considered waiting in the gate-room… but that was too obvious. She'd never be able to talk to him there, not without all those ears hovering. It was bad enough the man reduced her to a teenage scatterbrain with his presence alone… She'd take one look at him and blurt it out in front of the entire security team and control room staff. Her face flushed just thinking about it. Not an option.

She'd considered waiting for him in the infirmary, but the location carried too much negative karma. The infirmary would imply he'd been injured, or someone else had. Otherwise, why would he go there at all? It was a horrible thing to even consider, and deciding not to tempt fate, she'd left.

She'd tried waiting in the cafeteria, but it was too busy, and people had too many questions about the last twenty four hours. Questions she didn't want to answer. Questions she couldn't answer. Questions she needed answers to herself.

Eventually, she'd paced an invisible furrow across the smooth surface of the hallway outside his room. But she found herself making odd excuses to anyone passing by as to why she was standing around in the middle of nowhere. In the middle of the quarters. In front of his door.

So she'd tried waiting _in_ his room, knowing he'd once told her she could seek solace there should she ever need to, and hoping he really meant it.

Not wanting to disturb anything, she sat in a chair in the far corner, to wait. The lingering force of his presence enveloped her with a residual strength and she felt the worry and tension slipping away. Even his essence gave her strength. Under the comforting silence of the dim light she'd given into the weariness and closed her eyes. Swearing it was only for a moment.

But a moment was all it took.

She'd fallen asleep.

She hadn't meant to.

She'd just been so tired, and the painkillers were starting to kick in.

* * *

Ronon's anger propelled him down the hallway with a force which parted everyone in front of him.

Four days of dirt and mud, rain and battle, trying to stop a war that started over a missing shipment of grain. Seventeen people dead. Men. Women. Children. All because someone thought someone else took what was theirs.

The battle itself didn't matter – people fought over less.

It was the death of the three women and the two children that ate away at him, the smallest child barely six. Speared with an arrow because she'd stopped to retrieve a ragged doll she'd dropped while running across the field to safety.

Ronon couldn't wipe the image of the little blond braids out of his head. It would fade – as they always did. But right now it was fresh… and it was raw… and it was wanting an outlet.

He'd killed the man responsible – no hesitation. But somehow it wasn't enough. The little one was still gone. The mother still heartbroken. The village in tatters over the loss of life.

All for a misplaced cart of seed.

He wanted a shower. He wanted to be clean. He wanted to beat the man to death with his bare hands and pretend he hadn't killed him quickly with a single shot.

With a growl of frustration he swung into his quarters.

An immediate sense of presence shifted out of the shadows and he was instantly facing the far side of his room, weapon raised and charged, anger propelling him around to face the intruder.

Jennifer.

He hissed and immediately lowered his gun.

_By the ancestors he might have killed her!_

The panic that rose up in his throat was accompanied by bile. He reset his gun to stun and slammed it into it's holster.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

He knew his voice was too loud, to rough, but someone help him he'd nearly cut her down simply for being there.

"I…" She stuttered with surprise, blinking and rubbing her eyes with her right hand as she stood. "I'm sorry."

"I could have killed you!"

"You… What? No." She shook her head in disbelief.

He rode the anger of the battle, the pain of the child, the shock of finding her here, of knowing she'd startled him and if he'd been any slower at recognizing her…

He stepped forward, using his size to back her against the wall. He was too far gone to have her here – he wanted release. Needed release. And if she didn't go… His mind couldn't do that – wouldn't do that. But his body was only human. He could already feel himself responding to her presence. Her flowery scent. Her lush curves. The softness of her body. Her compassion called to him and like a weak fool his heart shattered in her presence. He struggled to crush the pieces back together inside his clenched fists.

They'd been dancing around each other for days… weeks… never taking that final step. His body already knew it desired hers, needed hers, and he'd planned to take her, soon.

But not now. Not like this.

"What do you want?" He growled.

He saw the flash of confusion flicker through her hazel eyes, his own anger flaring to know she _still_ wasn't afraid. Damn her for it. She should fear him right now. Fear what he could do to her.

"You need to leave. Now!"

She shook her head – confusion changing to worry.

It made him even more volatile. He was cracking and she was about to take the force full on if he couldn't get her out of there.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" She reached up, her hand landing on his shoulder, burning him beneath the coolness of her fingertips.

He growled. "No. I am not hurt." He pulled her arm and turned her towards the door, ignoring the wave of guilt when she winced and inhaled sharply.

"Ronon. Please. Talk to me. What's wrong? I can help!"

"You can't help. I just want to be left alone."

She stopped at the door and tried to turn around.

"No, Doc." He growled, opening his door and shoving her into the hallway. "Not now. Just… just go."

The door slid closed cutting off her shocked and wounded expression.

Hurt. But not afraid.

He banged his head against the closed door in frustration and anger. He wanted her back. He wanted to bury himself inside her and forget the world existed. He wanted to feel her soft arms around him and confess the pain of seeing that small child dying.

He'd killed without mercy. Seen life leaving the body at his hand, and the hands of others. But something about this small child was ripping him apart.

The child with the hesitant smile, the beautiful hazel eyes and the long blond hair.

The child who reminded him so much of _her_.

She couldn't be here.

Not now.

He was too angry. Too strong. He'd physically hurt her and that… was something he could never, ever do.

But he had hurt her. The look in her eyes.

And he'd never even asked her why she'd come.

With a frustrated curse he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The apology waited on his lips. The hunger twisted his abdomen. The need for her soft words tore his heart.

But the hallway was empty.

She was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Ronon growled at the pounding on his door, and winced at the pounding in his head.

He launched himself off the bed, the annoyed beeping from the door chime only adding to his frustration. He'd barely managed to close his eyes when twisted visions of Jennifer in braids, arrows and blood, swirled together, interrupting any attempt at solid rest.

He reached the door and slashed the sensor, fully prepared to flatten the person on the other side who'd so disturbed him. Then a brief hope flared it could be her, and he lowered his fist. After the way he'd acted… hell he'd be surprised if she would even acknowledge his presence.

Hope of a slight form, a hesitant smile, a soft touch skittered and flew away when the hallway lighting revealed Sheppard - freshly showered and fully geared.

John adjusted his TAC vest and awarded Ronon a purposeful frown. "You know, you have a radio for a reason."

Ronon grunted, disappointment blanketing him with a fervor.

John blinked. "Aren't we in a mood?"

"Sheppard…" Ronon growled a warning.

"Fine." John turned away with a shrug. "Teyla and I are off to shoot a few Wraith. If you're too tired-"

"Stop."

John returned to the doorway, a knowing grin on his face.

Ronon's body tensed in anticipation, his blood quickening. Something to kill. Something to take away the scattered images in his head. Something in which to channel the emotions he was trying so willfully to push away.

He turned into his room, grabbing his gun and quickly stowing his knives. Reaching for his sword he hesitated, then shrugged his arms through the leather straps, his eyes drawn to an empty space within his collection of blades. A small dagger – worn with use but sharp and true – was not where he left it. He glanced quickly at the floor beside the small table, but found only empty space, and the vacant chair Jennifer had occupied only a fraction of time before.

He made the connection, her location with his missing knife, its place only inches from the arm of the chair. Her appearance. Her need. She'd taken his knife? Why would she have call for for one? _Had she needed him as well_? He'd thrown her out. He hadn't gone after her. She had want of a weapon? Her? A woman who praised life over all other? Worry bubbled to the surface and he shoved it down when Sheppard cleared his throat.

"Loose something?" John shifted his weight.

Securing his holster around his thigh Ronon glanced at Sheppard, ignoring the questioning expression. He almost asked if they could swing by the infirmary, but Sheppard's anxiety to be moving called to him. He would seek her out when they returned. He would find the answers to the questions. And this time, he would keep her.

But first…

There were Wraith.

"Where?" Ronon stepped into the hallway.

"MX5-355." John explained while they hurried to the jumper bay. "Four darts. _Apparently_… an advanced scout was there yesterday."

"Apparently?" Ronon frowned, following the Colonel into the transporter.

John's expression turned stony. "There seems to be a communication issue with the new staff in the control room. They keep... forgetting... things."

"They _forgot_ to mention a Wraith dart." Ronon confirmed with a spitting growl.

Body language told Ronon that John was not about to let the issue of a missing communiqué go without fault. It would be dealt with swiftly when they returned.

John shook his head, clearing out the unnecessary emotions. "Boyd took out the scout. Figuring the rest weren't far behind, they stayed to organize the evacuation. Last check we have one dart confirmed down, three to go and Wraith on the ground."

Ronon felt the angry snake uncoiling in his abdomen as he strode up the ramp and into the Jumper. His desire to extract revenge on something – anything – quickly boiled to the surface.

Killing Wraith. That he could do. Maybe he'd even do it by hand. Slowly.

He felt the edges of a hard smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

It was a good day to die.

Especially if you were a Wraith.

* * *

The village was in tatters. Outlying buildings destroyed. Signs of life and death scattered over the uneven ground in a mix of mud soaked color. Clothing and food trampled and forgotten. Toys and tools discarded in a haste for retreat. Wood still smoldering under a steady fall of rain, the acrid smell of devastation burning their nostrils.

Ronon may have cursed another minute in rain and mud if not for the heady pleasure he'd taken in tracking three Wraith through the undergrowth.

Two died by hand. A glorious fight. He'd taken great satisfaction in proving himself the better warrior against them both simultaneously. His aggression momentarily sedated, he chose to dispatch the third in a more timely manner. With a twitch of his finger.

Sheppard didn't seem bothered by his need to do things the hard way off the start… merely muttered something about overeager children and moved on.

It only made Ronon laugh.

The three jumpers they'd arrived in made quick work of the remaining dart's. With a portable power source, McKay released those captured by the culling devices in two of the ships which fell closer to the village. The last one had gone down on the far side of the gate with reports of black smoke and fire billowing out from a hole in its side. A team would be dispatched to find it, kill any survivors, and notify Sheppard of it's location so McKay could retrieve the storage unit.

Slightly disappointed it was over so quickly, Ronon returned to the base camp. Sheppard strode off, a heated, low toned discussion with one of his Lieutenants carrying the occasional curse across the mud soaked ground.

Ronon remained with Teyla, acknowledging Major Lorne's report over the last known location of the remaining Wraith, and admitting concern over garbled transmissions from a wayward team.

The dart's were the advance… and their failure to return would flag a warning with their hive. Hell, the hive was already notified, as was McKay's repeated insistance. Rodney's lessons on how to disable the DHD when the Wraith locked it out were obviously well learned by the SGA teams, but cutting the connection between the darts and their Queen put a rush on their already hurried timetable.

By first removing, then immediately replacing the crystal after the culling began, the marines broke the Wraith's lock on the gate. They were then able to call for help. Their quick thinking would save the villagers who'd survived, but it would also serve as a warning to the Wraith something was amiss. They would be here soon. A fact that was well known amongst both warriors and villagers.

The hive was on its way.

They needed to permanently remove the remaining Wraith from the location of the village. Their distraction would only take precious time away from evacuating the survivors. Most of the people were already moving through the gate, dragging bundles of possessions. Whatever they could carry. Whatever wasn't already lost to the fires and destruction.

Even after a lifetime of identical happenings, Ronon still found it difficult to watch. Possessions and belongings carried on their backs, children and their future carried in their arms. Yet Ronon knew - as with all Pegasus people – these villagers would return. And they would rebuild.

He was turning to leave – his mind already tuned into killing the last Wraith, when Sheppard's angry bellow and immediate curse stopped him. Ronon recognized the ferocity of the tone and quickly crossed to the Colonel.

"They _what_?!" John's tone was furious and the poor Lieutenant, who'd obviously just given bad news, looked sufficiently chastised. The man opened his mouth but John shut him up with a wave of his hand. "Forget it, Lieutenant. I'll deal with the control room later."

Then John cursed loudly enough to turn heads across the small clearing.

"Ronon! Teyla!" Sheppard yelled, making a face when he turned to find the Satedan already standing behind him. John stepped around him and ran into their jumper, with Ronon following. Teyla crossed quickly from the far side of the clearing and joined them in the cockpit.

John activated the HUD and pulled up a long range sensor scan of the planet. He pointed to the flashing red dot. "Wraith cruiser. A little over an hour out."

"I will urge the villagers to hurry." Teyla said as she quickly backed out of the jumper.

"Tell them to drop everything and get their lollygagging asses through the damn gate!" John ordered, his eyes connecting with hers. Teyla nodded and spun on her heel, her orders echoing over the open ground.

Ronon turned to follow but John called him back. He switched the display to the village and it's surrounding area. A large cluster of dots indicated their present position. Sheppard pointed out a small group of life-signs on the far side of the village.

"Our guys." He pointed to a scattered collection of red dots, then moved his finger to three blue dots moving around the red. "Wraith."

"Who's out there?" Ronon asked, stepping aside as John raided the supply stores from the back of the jumper, filling his pockets with added clips and extra C4.

"Zeeman, Boyd, Nichols, a pregnant woman, and…" John hesitated only slightly, his shoulders stiffening with the words. "Dr. Keller."

"What!" Ronon's growl was loud enough to turn Teyla around from outside the jumper. Ronon spun towards the HUD. The overly close proximity of the blue with the red shot a spike of adrenaline and cold fear through his abdomen. "She's here!? What the hell is she doing here? And why wasn't she on the damn list?"

"My question exactly." Sheppard checked the portable scanner before sinking it back into the front pocket on his vest. Then he ran off the end of the ramp, with Ronon at his side.

* * *

John tried his best to pass on what little he knew while they ran, and Ronon did his best to listen, against the stabbing pain of guilt slicing through him.

Jennifer had come to assist a woman in the early stages of labor when the first Wraith scout arrived. Boyd shot it down but not before the ship had done some damage, destroying several houses, including the one next to where Jennifer had been.

She'd protected her patient against a falling roof strut, and earned herself a tidy chunk of stitches to her shoulder.

Hands fisted, Ronon relived what he'd ignored last night, trees blurring past as he ran without concern for where his feet would land. His body moved without added orders while his mind replayed the memory. She'd favored her left arm. The same arm he'd tugged to shove her out of his room. She hadn't said anything. Hadn't even made a noise. Her concern had been only for him. A dozen stitches to him was an inconvenience. On her slight frame, it was too much. Too many. It had to have hurt. _He_ had to have hurt her.

She'd returned to Atlantis for supplies before coming immediately back to the planet to assist in the evacuation. The mistake had come in no one remembering to report her return since she hadn't been on the initial list to begin with. The Gate-room had to have known, but in their haste to report the Wraith attack, forgot to inform the mission's military leader that the CMO was directly involved.

Ronon now understood the timing of her visit to his quarters, and her departure for the planet immediately following. Had he driven her there? Had she been already planning to leave? Why had she come to see him? Had she come for his help and when he didn't give it, settled on a five inch blade as her only protection? _Damn it woman, what the hell were you thinking?!_ Returning to a Wraith targeted planet without him? She should have said something… she should have… he hadn't… damn him he hadn't even given her a chance to speak.

Not knowing – not understanding - tore through the what-if's as he passed beneath the trees, his speed carrying him forward with urgency and trepidation.

If he'd let her stay…

If he'd kept her there…

He jammed the thoughts into the bottom of his soul and locked them away. She was fine. He would get to her. He would bring her home. Alive. Safe.

And then he'd kick her ass for leaving without him.

Whether he did it before, or after he rattled the answers out of the daft woman, left yet another question.

Did apologies count if you were throttling the person you were apologizing too?


	3. Chapter 3

Echoes of gunfire bounced off the trees, the direction confused under the wet canopy of rain drenched leaves.

Through the maze of trunks - a flash of white. Ronon fired, drawing a return barrage of Wraith stunner blasts. Sheppard connected, but it had recently fed. It was on it's feet again, running towards them with a hissing sneer. In tandem, both John and Ronon pulled the trigger, dropping the creature into the mud.

At a run they continued through the forest, offering only a passing glance at the wraith to ensure it was indeed dead.

Cresting a small rise, they checked the scanner, the location of the second Wraith no longer showing. Dispatched by the other team? Ronon cursed. More unanswered questions!

Life-signs were present directly in front of them now, in a single hut they could see through the sparse branches. Two more red dots were scattered to the north, followed by the last remaining dot of blue. One more Wraith. One more to kill.

Ronon slid to a stop in front of the small thatched house, the door already destroyed and hanging from it's hinges. The body of one of the missing Wraith lay across the threshold… half in… half out… flat on its back, it's torso riddled with bullet holes.

Questions tore him apart as he stared at the dead, sightless creature. Was she inside? Was she injured? Was she… Fury boiled up and he shot the carcass out of spite.

P90 fire sent him diving to the side, with Sheppard yelling for whoever was inside to cease fire.

The bullets stopped.

It took Ronon but a second for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness as he followed Sheppard inside the small structure.

On the floor, Captain Boyd lay prone, his hands clutching his P90, his body bathed in sweat as he struggled to roll onto his side. Sheppard knelt and forced him back down, mindful of the large bandage wrapped tightly around the Captain's bare torso.

Beside him lay Lieutenant Nichols, unconscious, his forehead circled tightly in gauze. His breathing was steady, but his skin was pale and drawn.

Both men were soaking wet and covered in dirt. They looked like they'd been through a hell of a battle in the few moments they'd been gone.

"Sorry, Sir." Boyd coughed, wincing and clutching his side. "Thought… thought you were _them_."

"It's okay, Lieutenant." John looked down at the injured man, giving him a quick smile. "You got him."

"Good." Boyd groaned, his P90 slipping from his fingers when he coughed violently. Sheppard pulled the man's hands away from the trigger and set the gun on the floor.

Examining the bandages, Ronon recognized the neat and compact placement of Jennifer's work. Blood was quickly soaking through the edges of the heavy gauze, indicating an urgent need for treatment.

Movement across the room had Ronon and John upright, spinning, weapons raised.

A young woman, who's earlier tears had dried long, smudged trails down her cheeks, lay on the floor against the far wall, her body covered in a tattered blanket. Weapon lowered, John stepped forward, the woman's eyes wide and weary as she watched his approach.

In the shadows of the tiny room, John crouched beside her, sliding the only source of light closer. In the glow of the small lantern, a soft mewling drew his attention. Pulling back the edges of the blanket, the woman presented a tiny infant, eyes scrunched closed in sleep, delicate fingers tightly balled into little fists.

"I am Shara…" She whispered softly. "This… this is Holt." She looked up at John, her eyes questioning. "You are friends of Jennifer? She said… she said you would come for us."

Ronon turned from his post in the doorway at the mention of Jennifer's name. He immediately recognized the stripe of yellow in the cloth which swaddled the newborn. A jacket that belonged to the woman who was not here. The woman who was out there… out there with a hungry Wraith.

John nodded, his answer already known when he voiced the question. "She's not here."

"Doc." Boyd coughed, his statement a low groan. "Went for help."

"Alone?" Ronon growled, his mind immediately drawn to the scanner John held in his left hand, knowing there were two life-signs still unaccounted for.

"Not alone." Boyd answered, his breathing ragged. "With Zeeman. Couldn't go." He coughed again, wheezing. "Sorry, sir."

John shook his head, returning to the injured man. "It's okay, Lieutenant. You were needed here."

Boyd nodded, his head lolling to the side, shoulders hunched against another round of coughing.

John stepped out of the room, calling in a rescue request over the radio while he stared at the scanner in his hand.

Ronon glanced over his shoulder. His agitation solidified to see the dots were now connected. Red overlapping blue overlapping red.

The acknowledgement in John's eyes was all Ronon needed.

Without hesitation, he turned and ran.

* * *

The lifeless body of the final Wraith lay face down between the trees. Approaching it, a chunk of bark exploded next to Ronon's head and he spun away, cursing and calling out.

"Ronon?" A croak hissed out from behind a rotted chunk of deadfall.

"Zeeman?"

"Here." Came the strangled response.

Ronon stepped around the trees, crossing the body of the dead Wraith, and crouching down next to the bleeding Captain. Zeeman's shoulder was carved deeply - the gash from a Wraith sword dissected the straps of his vest, tearing both cloth and flesh. Ronon also saw the raw and open feeding mark through the Captain's shredded shirt. The torn material was covered in a dark, sticky blood. Wraith blood. Yet he looked, for the most part, unchanged.

"I'm fine." Zeeman struggled to rise, futilely trying to brush Ronon's hand off his chest.

"Did he get you?" Ronon yanked the field dressing out of the Captain's TAC vest, pushing the man back onto the ground.

"No. But close." Zeeman inhaled sharply when Ronon firmly pressed the pad over the injury. "Leave me." The Captain commanded. "Find the Doc."

Ronon's voice gave sound to the thought that immediately registered as truth. He knew it without asking. The look in the Captain's eyes told him without words it was going to be bad. The breath in Ronon's body escaped through his mouth, clearly visible in the cool, damp air. "She's hurt."

Zeeman nodded, his eyes closing briefly. Then he inhaled sharply and blinked them open. "Stabbed the damn Wraith right through his hand. Saved my life."

"Keller?" John's voice carried a hint of surprise as he slid to a stop in the damp earth next to Ronon.

Ronon's mind immediately flashed to the knife from his quarters. The knife she'd taken with her. The knife she'd physically used – face to face with a damn Wraith. A chance – a horrible chance to save a life that could have very well ended her own. He cursed her then. He cursed himself. _Damn it Jennifer, why didn't you tell me? _Refusing the answer he already knew, he focused on Zeeman's words.

"Threw her." Zeeman's eyes closed, his voice thick. "Hard. Bleeding bad."

"Where is she?" John asked, spinning to search the area around them.

"Crazy woman went for help." Zeeman mumbled, his consciousness loosing the battle to remain alert. He struggled, his fingers landing against Ronon's wrist, the cold shock of skin surprising Ronon with it's residual strength.

The words that tumbled off the Captain's lips drove the last of the oxygen from Ronon's lungs.

"Ronon." Zeeman's blue eyes fought for clarity through the pain, blinking twice before fluttering closed. "She can't see."


	4. Chapter 4

_She couldn't see._

Ronon didn't wait for elaboration. He took Zeeman's pained words for fact. Leaving Sheppard to struggle with moving the injured Marine, Ronon ran into the forest, her trail easy to follow.

To easy.

The blood smeared across the branches and trunks was a beacon.

It took him less than two minutes to find her. Two minutes that stretched into oblivion as he covered her broken path. Two minutes to reach a spot that was a hell of a lot farther away than he'd have considered if she was so injured.

A flash of muted blue through the branches and he saw her ahead. Her gait was staggered, limping, stumbling. She moved with purpose, her arms outstretched as she pushed herself forward - tree by tree. He shouted her name, his voice carrying through the rain turned mist.

She jerked, spinning as she fell, the bullet chunking loudly off a tree several yards to his right. She rolled onto her side, scrambling back and attempting to force herself upright. He called her name a second time. The gun pointed in his direction, and she pulled the trigger a second time, the shot banking wide.

He stumbled, catching himself, his legs forgetting their purpose as he caught sight of her struggle. Her body. Her face.

Zeeman was right.

She couldn't possibly see.

Her forehead bled from her hairline, thick and dark, her lifeblood dripping down her face, leaking into her eyes, sealing them closed. The top half of her shirt was dark and stained with her blood, the bottom half smeared from obvious attempts to wipe it off. She favored her right ankle, pushing only with her left as she struggled to her feet. Leaning weakly against a tree, she cocked her head to the side and listened, the barrel following the sounds she could hear coming from his direction. Her left hand tightly clenched the hilt of a blade - his blade - which she sheltered firmly against her upper abdomen.

"Jennifer." He exhaled, watching the barrel swing towards his voice. The weapon shuddered as she struggled to keep her right arm upright.

"It's me. It's Ronon." He approached, watching her cautiously as her right arm swung dangerously close. He saw no recognition, only hesitation.

"I have to get help." She mumbled, finally lowering the gun and turning around, her movements unsteady.

"Doc, no." He reached her side, grabbing for the weapon. She stumbled against him and he pulled her around. He extracted the gun from her fingers, tucking it into his waistband.

"Don't." She struggled weakly. "Someone… people… hurt. Waiting for help. I… I have to get help."

"Jennifer, they're okay. Everyone's okay."

She pulled away but he held upper arms, the bare skin cold and wet beneath his fingers. He needed to get her back. To safety. To warmth. But he couldn't stop staring at the blood on her face. It shouldn't be there. He wanted it gone.

"They need help." She exhaled the words, her voice weak and unsteady.

"_You_ need help." He looked at the gash across her forehead, hoping it was less than it looked, but her confused state dove into him with great concern. He grasped at the fact that she was still standing, still mobile, and clung to it with his heart and soul.

Her left hand landed on his chest and pushed, a weak attempt at moving herself away. He felt her knuckles pressing through his shirt and reached for her fingers, attempting to remove the knife before she cut herself.

The ferocity of her resistance surprised him when she snatched her hand away with an angry cry. "No! It's not mine. I have to give it back!" Struggling, she stepped down on her bad ankle and cried out as her leg buckled beneath her.

He reached for her but she spun away, bouncing off a tree and falling onto her side. He dove after her as she belly crawled forward, repeated words of _you can't have it_ and _I have to give it back_ raising in volume until she was almost shouting.

Rolling with her, he looped his arms over hers and crushed her back against his chest, holding her left hand firmly, keeping her from moving the knife any closer to her skin with her sporadic struggles. "You can keep it. You can keep it." He repeated the words against her ear until they finally registered and she calmed.

"I have to give it back." She whispered, her back pressed tightly against his front.

"It's okay." He lessened his hold, moving to brush the hair away from her face, his fingers coming away smeared with dirt and blood.

"Damn it Jennifer, why didn't you tell me?" He growled, gently releasing her.

She remained on her side, her arms protecting the blade as she curled her body around it. He stood and shrugged out of his long coat. It was heavy from the rains, but the inside was warm and dry. He forced her to sit and wrapped it around her shaking torso.

"You shouldn't have come back here alone." He stood and stepped forward, carrying her light frame tucked tightly in his coat.

Her body felt so still, so lifeless. If not for the ragged, shallow breathing he could feel through his encompassing hold, he would not have known her to be still alive. His own breathing was staggered as he fought to contain the sharp knot paining his chest.

He wasn't sure she was even conscious until she spoke, her words so quiet he would have missed them if not for the silence of the forest surrounding them.

"Please." She whispered weakly, her soft plea shattering his heart into ragged shards. "Not alone."

"You're not alone." He answered, exhaling with a sharp conviction. "Not now. Not ever. I swear it."

When he reached the small hut, Sheppard ran out to meet him, staggering to a stop at the sight of Jennifer's unmoving body.

"Oh… god." John exhaled, his eyes unblinking, the look of caged horror reflecting his mistaken thoughts at her condition.

Ronon understood exactly how lifeless she looked – hell, he knew how lifeless she _felt_. His arms still clutched her tightly against him if only to reassure himself with the light hitch when she breathed that she was still living.

"She's alive." He answered, watching as relief sagged the Colonel's shoulders.

"Jesus." John whispered, stepping slowly closer, his hand reaching his ear. "Damn it, Sanchez, where the hell are you?"

The defining whine of the drive pods reached their ears and they looked up at the silver underside of the jumper as it skimmed over their position, heading for a small clearing behind the tiny building.

Ronon moved towards the landing jumper, torn between the need coursing through his blood to keep her close, to not let her go, and the realization that he had to release her if he was going to help with the others. In the end he lay her on the floor of the jumper, a guttural warning to Sanchez to watch her – carefully – and call him if she woke, under threat of death if he didn't. Sanchez nodded his compliance, but she never stirred.

Ronon rode through the gate seated in the crowded cargo area of the jumper. Wedged between Zeeman and Nichols, he held Jennifer against him, willing her to move, to speak, to release her hold on the dagger she still clenched tightly between her pale fingers.

If not for Carson's gentle hand on his arm, Ronon wouldn't have set her onto the gurney which waited in the Jumper bay. But he did so, only because of the soft burr which promised to see to her care. And John's firm insistence that he needed to put her down so she could be looked after.

Knowing there was nothing more he could do, he returned to the planet with Sheppard to finish the evacuation, half praying she wouldn't awake until he returned.

She didn't.

And that worried him even more.


	5. Chapter 5

She looked so… frail.

Lying still in the bed.

But it was an illusion.

He knew this now.

The petite doctor with the quiet voice and the healing touch was not weak.

She'd taken on a damn Wraith with nothing more than a five inch piece of folded metal.

And somehow, through some help of the Ancients…

She'd won.

He shook his head, unable to let go of the knowledge of the warrior within her, even though she currently looked more like a small child, dwarfed under the blankets and bandages.

The gauze wrapped around her head was stark and dismal, but it matched the muted colors of the blankets and pillows. She wore white medical clothes, and he instantly wished for the colored shirts she usually wore – the bright blues and pinks that made her eyes sparkle so. Colors that made her so vibrant and alive. These pale shades that surrounded her now only served to make her look… unwell. He suddenly very much wanted to see laughter in her eyes again. See the knowing smirk she always gave him when he came to the infirmary after sparring. Hear her soft words as she chastised him for reopening yet another set of stitches.

He wanted it very much, but for now, he had to settle for the memory. Because she wouldn't be giving him any of those things just yet.

The bandage covered half her forehead and pressed her hair flat against the side of her head. Her face was clean of any residual blood, no trace of her horrific appearance remained, save for what lived in his subconscious. Her right foot was elevated on a pillow, her ankle tightly wrapped in a large bandage, but it was her left hand that caught his eye. Gauze wrapped from the back to cross her palm, her fingers curling over the wad of material. Had she cut herself with his knife? He couldn't remember her favoring it… only her insistence that she keep it with her…

Marie made a few adjustments to Jennifer's blanket before turning towards him.

She smiled hesitantly, her voice quiet in the late hour, not wanting to disturb the sleeping patients. "She'll be out of it for a few hours yet."

Ronon nodded.

"You can stay… I mean, if you wanted?" She pointed to a chair sitting vacant next to the side of her bed.

He nodded again.

With a slight angle to her head she glanced over at Jennifer, then back at Ronon. "She's going to be fine. She'll have a hell of a headache, I'm sure. But she'll be fine. Dr. Beckett said she won't even have a scar."

Ronon inhaled, the thought of her having battle scars turning his stomach. He exhaled, feeling Marie's presence move away.

"Marie." He called softly.

She turned and stepped back, waiting for him to continue.

"The others?"

She smiled with the sudden understanding. "Lieutenant Nichols has a concussion, he'll be released in the morning. Captains Boyd and Zeeman both passed through surgery with flying colors…" She angled her head to the other end of the infirmary where the three men were sleeping. "They're all going to be fine."

Then Marie turned back towards Jennifer with a respectful look. She pursed her lips and shook her head slowly. "She saved their lives." Then she shrugged, with a silent nod she turned and retreated to the far corner.

For a moment, Ronon remained standing in the middle of the room, watching her sleep. Eventually he found himself in the chair, his hand reaching for her left, gently turning her palm up. Her skin was cool, but no longer cold. It was something positive to grasp on to. He stared at her long, graceful fingers where they lay against his calloused palm. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, her hand in his, staring at the gauze, his thoughts jumbled and mixed with unanswered questions as he replayed the last twenty-four hours.

A movement to his right had him standing, facing Carson as the doctor approached.

"Easy, big man." Carson smiled as he stopped in front of Ronon. "I didn't mean to disturb ya. I just saw ya' here and thought you might wish to have this back."

Ronon's fingers accepted his dagger, wrapped in a white cloth, blood still caked on the handle and blade.

"Sorry for the condition, lad. I dinna want to clean it for fear of doing damage." Carson shrugged. "Wasn't sure if you had something special to take off the… ah… blood."

Ronon nodded, rewrapping the blade in the towel. "You knew it was mine?"

Carson grinned. "I've taken enough of them off ya' ta recognize your handiwork."

Ronon found himself grinning.

"Had to pry it out of her hand, though." Carson said quietly.

Ronon's smile faltered.

"Aye." Carson nodded at her gauze wrapped hand. "The wee lass had her fingers wrapped so tightly around the blasted thing, she cut her own hand with her fingernails."

Carson landed a hand on Ronon's shoulder, giving him an affectionate pat. "She'll be fine, lad. Why don't you get yourself some rest. Maybe clean up a little. She won't be awake for a few hours yet."

Ronon nodded, his eyes briefly glancing down at his front, the realization that he was still wearing the same muddy clothes he'd had on during the evacuation.

"Go." Carson gave him a gentle shove.

Ronon nodded, giving a parting glance to the sleeping woman before turning away.

"I'll be back."

Carson watched him leave, a knowing smile on his lips. "Aye, lad. That you will."

* * *

Freshly showered, fed, and overly restless, he'd returned to the medical area. The crash of equipment startled him and he ran the rest of the way into the infirmary, the sound of Jennifer's anguished voice reaching his ears.

He stopped, eyes on the crowed gathered in the far corner, his heart slamming with adrenaline.

Lieutenant Nichols, his bed abandoned, was crouched in the middle of the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around Jennifer, who was sitting in his lap. Clearly upset, Jennifer rocked back and forth, her eyes closed, shaking her head and mumbling.

Beside them, a tray of supplies lay overturned and scattered, and two of the beds had been torn apart, including her own, with blankets and pillows thrown carelessly to the floor.

Nichols looked up, his eyes on Ronon's. "She was having a nightmare. Yelling in her sleep." He shook his head. "Then she got up and started tearing the place apart looking for something."

Carson hurried into the room, taking one look at the group, and quietly issued orders to Marie. The nurse hurried towards the supply cupboard while Carson squatted next to Jennifer.

"Easy, lass." Carson placed his hand on her shoulder, and Jennifer opened her eyes.

"I can't find it." She stared unblinking at Carson. Then she started to shake her head. "I have to find it. I need it. I can't leave it. It's not fair. I have to find it."

With each word her agitation increased, her hands clenching and unclenching as she rocked against Nichols arms. Carson kept a firm hold of her shoulders, softly urging Marie to hurry.

Ronon dropped to the ground beside them, digging into the top of his boot, and extracting the blade. He'd cleaned it, and had every intention of returning it to the table in his room, but somehow he'd decided to carry it with him. Snatching for her uninjured hand, he pressed the hilt against her palm, wrapping her fingers around it.

"It's right here." He said firmly, holding her hand between his, keeping the blade away from her skin. "You didn't loose it."

Carson and Nichols relaxed as Jennifer stilled, her eyes staring at the blade in her hand.

She sighed sleepily. "I didn't lose it."

Marie hurried back to Carson, handing him a silver auto-injector. Carson quickly held it to the side of Jennifer's neck and activated it.

Jennifer lifted her head and blinked at Ronon. It was a vacant stare of non recognition under heavy lidded eyes. He briefly wondered if she was even awake.

"I thought I lost it." She nodded slowly.

He shook his head, his hands still cupping hers. "You didn't."

"It's not mine."

"I know."

"I need to give it back."

"You will."

"Okay." Her eyes drifted slowly closed, her voice slurring. "I will."

Then she sighed happily and slumped against Nichols.

"Well, then." Carson muttered, looking at Marie. "I guess we know which medication _not_ to give her any more of?"

"Oh yeah." Marie nodded her agreement, eyeing the mess. Carson reached for Jennifer but Ronon had her up before Carson could move.

The Doctor indicated an undisturbed bed, and Ronon set her down against the pillow. Carson quickly covered her up, and after checking her vitals, nodded.

"I doubt the wee lass was even awake." He shook his head, staring at the knife in her hand. Then he looked at Ronon. "I don't usually recommend patients keep weapons in the infirmary, but…"

"I'll watch her." Ronon nodded, dragging a chair over to Jennifer's bedside.

"Aye." Carson nodded. "Wise decision, lad. And perhaps when this is all over, I'll buy you a wee dram and you'll tell me the story behind all this."

Ronon shook his head, his hand wrapped around Jennifer's, keeping the knife steady against her side.

"I need to know the story myself, first."


	6. Chapter 6

Jen awoke with a tightening pressure in her head, a dull throbbing in her ankle, and a strange heat on her right hand.

Cracking her eyes open, she blinked the sleepy blur away and rolled her head to the side, her eyes working over a strange puzzle. Her right hand, was tightly enveloped in someone else's hand. A man's hand. _Ronon's hand_. Darkly tan, heavy, heated warmth and strength, firmly holding hers. His arm, running up alongside, his bare skin warming hers to where his elbow bent up towards his shoulder, his neck, his face, his eyes, intense… dark… watching her.

She blinked.

Flushed. Heat rose quickly past her cheeks and ears. Her heart skittered behind her ribs and her body warmed under the intensity of his gaze. God with just a look he made her so… Embarrassed, relieved, flustered. She couldn't stop the smile. He was here? He was waiting. For her?

His eyes shifted, darkness swirling with the barest hint of relief before they softened.

"Uh… hi?" She finally managed to squeak.

"Hi yourself." He angled his head. "How are you feeling?"

She looked inward, her mind quickly analyzing the way her body felt, her limbs, her head. She wriggled her brow, feeling the pull of stitches across her scalp. Raising her left hand to touch her forehead she noticed the gauze around her palm and frowned further, spinning her hand around. It didn't hurt at all… Then she looked down at her right ankle, rotating it slightly, feeling a sharp pull when she angled it too far to the side. Sprained… but not badly. She took a deep breath and rolled her head to look up at Ronon.

She hesitated… not wanting to speak for fear of babbling. Of letting everything out in one long exhale. She wanted to apologize. To explain. To tell him everything. To crawl into his arms and hide even if only for a moment. And he'd let her. She knew that. She felt like she'd been… well… throw into a tree. Which is what happened. But telling him that wouldn't relieve the worry in his eyes. He shouldn't be worried about her. It was her job to be the anxious one… God, she couldn't think straight and it was all his doing. She suddenly couldn't remember what it was she wanted to say. It was those eyes. Those incredibly intense eyes. Somehow she'd slipped into them and fallen, and wasn't sure she was ever going to be able to climb out – not that she even wanted to.

"Doc?" He leaned forward.

"I think I'm hungry." She finally said.

He blinked. Blinked again. Then with a shake of his head, his concern cracked and he laughed.

The sound blanketed her with warmth and she found herself grinning.

When his fingers tightened around hers, it drew her attention, and she looked down at where their hands met. Raising herself up on her elbows, she sat up slowly, his weight shifting in the chair as he shook his head.

"Doc…" he warned.

"I'm… okay." She nodded reassuringly, but her eyes never left their hands, and the long, sliver blade stretching out from the hilt which was buried beneath their combined fingers. He removed his hand when she turned her palm over, knowing what she held even before she parted her fingers to confirm the intricate design on the handle, the swirls and icons worn smooth from use. His use. His knife. The knife she'd taken from his room.

"Oh crap." She exhaled sharply, suddenly remembering _everything_. The knife and his room and the whole breaking and entering thing and oh hell she'd really screwed up and god he must think she was completely insane. No wonder he was so worried. She'd lost her mind before she'd even left.

She exhaled slowly, her eyes rising to his, embarrassment returning to her face with a fury. "Ronon, I didn't mean to take it." She exhaled quickly, horrified to think that she'd actually _stolen_ something – even accidentally – and the someone she'd stolen _from_ was him.

"It's okay." He frowned, shaking his head, returning his hand to cover hers.

"No." She grabbed his wrist with her free hand, her eyes pleading. "It's not okay. I didn't do it on purpose. I mean… I didn't mean to take it… no, I mean I took it, I just…"

"Jennifer."

"-didn't mean to keep it. I picked it up and, and, and everything. I was just looking at it and then I-"

"Jennifer!" He growled.

She bit her lower lip.

"Breathe." He ordered.

"Ahh there's my girl." Carson approached the bed. "How are we feeling?"

"Mild headache." Jen answered, releasing Ronon's arm, her eyes shifting from Carson's face to her now lonely right hand – which still clutched the hilt of the blade. "Minor inversion sprain." _He's moving away. His arms are crossed. He always crosses his arms when he's holding something back. Oh god he is angry with me. Well what do you expect? You stole it. Of course he'd be pissed off. _"A little sore, a lot hungry." _But he's not leaving yet. That's a good thing… isn't it? Or not… oh hell. _

She snapped her head back to Carson, who was watching her intently.

She nodded, pretending to hear whatever it was Carson might have said.

"Let's take a look, then, shall we?" Carson moved towards the bed immediately checking her vitals.

Ronon stepped away, his body filled with a hostile combination of relief, concern, and anger. She was awake. She was fine. And then she'd gone and made him laugh. He didn't want to laugh, damn it. Okay, he did. But… there were just too many questions! Her obvious connection to the blade was worrying. And why was she so upset about it? There was definitely a story there – and one he would most certainly find out.

"Doc!" John smiled easily as he strode into the infirmary. "Nice to see you're up and about."

"Well I wouldn't go quite that far, lad." Carson interrupted. "She's up… but she's not going anywhere just yet." The Doctor held up his hand when Jen opened her mouth to argue. "_Not_ until we make sure there's no lasting effects… hmm?"

Jen snapped her mouth shut, but neither John nor Ronon missed the slight roll to her eyes.

"Not a good patient, Doc?" John grinned.

"No." Both Jen, and Carson frowned in tandem. Carson ushered both men out of the way and drew the privacy curtain around Jennifer's bed.

John stepped away, moving across the infirmary towards Lieutenant Nichols, who was talking quietly with Captain Boyd. Captain Zeeman, in the far bed, was still out, likely under the influence of some heavy sedation.

Ronon wasn't about to leave the room, so he followed Sheppard to the far corner.

"Lieutenant." John nodded at Nichols. "How's the head? I hear you took quite a knock."

"It didn't make him any smarter." Boyd answered, from his reclined position.

Nichols grinned at his bunkmate. "At least I didn't walk into a Wraith sword."

"No, you just walked into a door." Boyd answered, clutching his wounded side as he laughed. "You're lucky the Doc was there to put your brains back in. Not that it would have made much of a difference."

"Speaking of the Doc…" Nichols looked from Sheppard to Ronon, then to the end of the infirmary and the stark white curtain. "She going to be okay?"

"Looks like she's going to be fine." John shrugged. "Bump on the head and a sprained ankle. Nothing too troublesome. She'll be back up stabbing you two with needles soon enough."

"Shit, she can stab me anytime." Boyd nodded quickly, then sobered when he saw Ronon step forward, fists clenched. "I mean she saved our lives." He hurried to explain, looking at Nichols for confirmation.

Nichols nodded quickly in agreement. "We owe her. Not just for the medical and everything… but the way she took out that Wraith…"

"What Wraith?" John's brow furrowed.

Ronon stepped closer to Boyd, this time intent on listening, not strangling. Yet.

"The one in the hut." Boyd blinked, eyeing Ronon warily.

"The one in the hut?" John repeated, stepping closer, and crossing his arms.

Boyd glanced quickly at Nichols, then turned back to John. "After we dropped the dart, we carried the woman into the hut so the Doc could deliver the baby. We weren't there long. Maybe twenty minutes, tops. The kid was… was… coming _out_… when that freekin' Wraith came smashing through the door."

"I took it full force." Nichols added, touching the gauze covered patch on his forehead. "Don't remember anything past that damn door flying in."

"You dropped like a sack of potatoes." Boyd grinned. "Baby."

"Yeah well better doors than swords." Nichols shook his head.

John cleared his throat.

Boyd shook his head in apology, his smile gone. "I got in a few shots before he stuck that damn blade into me. God those things are strong." He glanced at Ronon, then lowered his voice. He shook his head, inhaling slowly. "Doc grabbed Nic's P90 and emptied the damn clip. Just… emptied it."

Four sets of eyes locked on the moving curtain at the end of the room. Carson was talking quietly to Jennifer as he dragged the drape back towards the wall.

"She just… killed it… killed it… and had to go right back to delivering that woman's baby." The Captain whispered harshly, not wanting his voice to carry beyond their small group. "A baby for gods sake! It was freekin' surreal. I don't think I'll _ever_ forget the look on her face, though." He hesitated, then cursed. "Shit."

Shaking his head in disgust, Nichols expression mirrored Boyd's. "She shouldn't have been the one doing the killing."

Silence.

"Sorry, sir." Boyd looked up at his CO. "I screwed up."

"_We_ screwed up." Nichols added.

"So if Doc wants to stab me with a needle the size of Texas…" Boyd said solemnly, looking directly from John to Ronon. "I'm all hers."

Ronon eyes moved to Nichols, who nodded his agreement, the pledge unvoiced. There was no need to justify it more. It was silently understood. Without question she'd added two more to her quickly growing list of protectors. He knew she would never realize the level of respect she commanded – with each action, each mission, each time she healed, touched, smiled.

From the middle of the room he stared at Jennifer. Hell, they all stared at Jennifer. His first assumption upon reaching the hut was that Boyd had shot the Wraith. Never… _never_ would it have occurred to him – to any of them…

He stepped closer, his feet carrying him of their own volition. He felt Sheppard follow. They crossed the room, moving to stand at the end of the bed, their eyes watching the unassuming form of their CMO arguing the restrictions on her release with Carson.

Nichol's words echoed through Ronon's mind.

_We screwed up._

_Yes_, Ronon thought. _We did. _

_We most definitely did. _

_._

_._

_._

_._

_A/N -- Sorry for the delay in posting, and um... this seems to be a few chapters longer than I initially intended. :P The plot bunny got away from me. I'll have the next chapter up asap. :) And yes, there is a story behind the knife - next chapter, promise! :) - Nika_


	7. Chapter 7

When the door to her quarters opened, Ronon was momentarily taken aback. It wasn't that he wasn't expecting to see her on the other side. He was. It was her room. He just wasn't expecting… well, he didn't really know what he wasn't expecting.

Sweetness. Flowers. Soap. She smelled so… distracting.

She'd recently bathed, the tips of her hair still damp and hanging loosely across her bare shoulders. Shoulders which were holding up a pair of ridiculously thin strings that were attached to a tight fitting top. Her pants, slung low across her narrow hips dropped down into loose fitting puddles that covered her feet and _why were they decorated with little yellow smiles_?

When her feet moved he realized he'd been staring down at where her bare toes were peeking out from under the edge of the material. He snapped his eyes up.

"Thanks for coming." She stepped aside, allowing him to enter. "I just…" She sighed. "Wanted to explain… things."

He nodded, his eyes dropping to her left shoulder when she turned and limped towards a desk in the corner. From a spot a finger's width below the curve of her shoulder, her normally cream toned skin was a dark yellow, disappearing down below the material of her shirt in a blotched mix of green and a deep purple. Where she'd been hit with the beam protecting her patient. He felt a flury of anger welling up as he stared at the strip bandage showing just above her left shoulder-blade. It marked the spot where her stitches would be. Twelve. An even dozen, Sheppard had called it. Twelve too many.

She turned, hesitating. "Ronon?"

He met her eyes.

"Is… was this a bad time? I mean… it's not urgent." She turned and walked slowly back towards him, her gait staggered and uneven with her tightly bandaged foot. "We can… I… It's not that important if you have to… be somewhere?" She stopped in front of him, and his position just inside her closed door.

He shook his head. "No. I'm good."

She nodded. "Are you sure? Because if you-"

"I'm good." He repeated.

She chewed her lower lip.

"It's okay." He wanted to reassure her. To see the hesitation gone. So he stepped further into the room and changed the topic. "Should you be standing?" He glanced down at her wrapped foot.

She shrugged, turning towards him. "I'm not going far."

They stayed that way, chest to chest, inches apart, staring into each others faces until she finally broke away. He wondered at her strange expression, the distance, as though her thoughts were far away. Another time. Another place.

Then she nodded, answering an internal question, and released her lower lip from between her teeth. "Okay. I won't keep you long."

She moved back to the desk, reaching for something sitting on the surface. Reaching for a small book. Reaching for his knife.

She turned, and crossed the room towards him. Realizing she wasn't going to stay off her feet so long as he was standing, he moved past her and lowered himself onto the end of her bed. She immediately followed and sat beside him, her fingers tracing the edges of the small black book. Flipping it open, she quickly moved past pictures. Photographs. Smiling people. Old and young. Groups and singles. She moved the pages quickly, seeking a specific image, and when she reached it, removed the photo and set the book aside. With a deep breath she held out the picture, the angle of the light releasing the glare across the surface and giving him a more completed view.

His heart staggered to a stop and he held his breath. The girl, the child from the planet, the blood, the arrow, the death. It all came flashing back as he stared at the image in his hands. Smiling, laughing, face turned into the sun. Blond hair divided in two windblown braids that were held floating around her face, frozen in time. Bright eyes. Hazel eyes. Her eyes. Filled with life and laughter. Lifted in the arms of an older man, a man who held her tightly, protectively, as they smiled together.

"That's me." She said softly, but he needed no explanation. It could be no other. "And that's Papa. My Grandfather."

He nodded, handing back the photo, wanting to push away the image of the child from the planet. The image of _her_ from the planet.

She set the photo back into the book, returning it to its home, and closing the cover. Ronon didn't miss the fact that she'd done it without letting go of his knife.

She sighed softly, staring at the handle of the dagger, running her fingers lightly over the worn and faded carvings.

"Papa was a soldier in the second World War." She began, her fingers tracing a nervous stripe down the length of the blade and back again. He was hypnotized by the movement, and by the soft sound of her voice. "He had this huge collection of knifes and weapons, bullets, weird souvenirs he'd gathered while he was in Europe. All this… stuff…"

Ronon didn't understand the details, but he understood the concept of collecting battle trophies. She absently reached across his chest and lifted the thick cord around his neck, slowly letting the leather strap slide through her fingers down to the Wraith teeth dangling from the end. He held his breath, her cool touch burning his skin as her knuckles lightly scraped over the bare skin of his open shirt. "He had the strangest things. Well, to a kid they were strange. Fascinating. He kept so much."

He was finally able to breath again when she dropped her hand, returning it to her lap, and his knife.

"One summer, I think I was… seven or eight… I was playing GI Joe's with the kids from down the street."

"GI Joe? Like Sheppard's comic book?"

She laughed. "Why doesn't that surprise me? I'm sure they did… _do_ have comics about it. I know there's cartoons on TV. And toys, and all kinds of stuff. We used to play it all the time. I mean, I grew up on a street of boys, of course that's what they played."

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth as he tried to picture those little braids running around with a crowd full of boys… then he had to frown at the thought of the little braids and a crowd of boys.

She giggled at the memory, shaking her head, then her smile faltered.

"What?" He leaned closer.

She sighed, her eyes returning to the knife sitting on her lap. "We were going to play out on McDermot's woodlot one day and for some reason I decided that I needed to have a sword like the other boys. I couldn't find anything in the garage or the shed, and then I remembered that Papa'd left one of his cases behind the last time he'd visited. So I um… went into it and took out one of his knives."

She made a face and stood up, moving a few feet away, her fingers picking at the handle of the knife while she spoke. "We played all afternoon and somehow, at some point…" She turned back towards him, her eyes sad. "I lost it."

"You lost it?"

"I… put it down, or it fell out of my sock, or I got distracted." She sighed, resuming her awkward pacing. "I spent the entire afternoon looking for it. The boys eventually gave up and went home for supper but I just couldn't leave it there. It was Papa's knife. I _had_ to bring it back."

Ronon stood up and grabbed her shoulders, angling her back towards the bed and forcing her to sit down. He returned to the spot beside her.

"I was out there all day looking for the damn thing. The boys went home. I cried. I looked. I cried some more. Then it got dark and I didn't want to go home unless I had it with me."

She stood up to resume her awkward pacing, taking two steps before he pulled her back down.

"By then Dad had the whole town out looking for me. I was in such trouble when they finally figured out where I was. They were so angry! The Sheriff was yelling. Papa was yelling. Dad was yelling. I was bawling."

Ronon could only imagine the anxiety involved in finding your child missing. Lost. Hell he'd damn near gone insane when _she'd_ been on the planet. He couldn't imagine the fear of losing your child. Any child. His child.

She stood up again, his distraction letting her get several wobbly steps away before his arms grabbed her waist and he pulled her gently backwards, forcing her to sit back down onto the bed.

"I spent two weeks in that woodlot looking for it. Every day. I just had to find it. I had to give it back. He was just so angry with me for taking it. I was so convinced that Papa would hate me forever for losing it."

"Jennifer, I don't…" He frowned. "I'm not angry with you for borrowing a knife."

She glanced sideways at him, searching his face, before angling her body towards him.

"Ronon, I broke into your room and stole your knife. You have every right to be angry."

"Did you need it?"

"What?"

"Did you need it?"

"I… well… no, not originally…"

"Did you need it?"

She sighed. "Yes."

"Then why would you think I'd fault you for taking it?"

"But it's not even why I was even there."

"Why _were_ you there?"

Her teeth returned to chewing her bottom lip, and her face turned several shades of scarlet. She leaned foward and moved to stand up but he hooked his arm around her waist, snugging her right hip firmly against his left. This time he didn't release her.

"Stop walking on it." He growled.

"Sorry." She mumbled. "I pace when I'm nervous."

"I make you nervous?" He didn't want to hear her answer, but waited, the question hanging in the air like a red flag.

"No." She immediately responded. "Well, not really. I mean, yes, sometimes, but not… not in a bad way. It's just that… you… I can't… you know?"

He raised an eyebrow, not understanding a word of her admission other than _no_.

Her shoulders tensed then released, and she sighed. "I was there because wanted to ask you something." Her voice was a quiet whisper.

"What did you want to ask me?"

Her shoulders dropped and she lowered her head, her hair falling to completely cover her face. He reached out, unable to stop himself from tucking the golden locks in behind her ear. It was an intimate gesture. He knew this. But he needed to see her face. Even if it was fully flushed with embarassment.

She tilted her head, watching him out of the corner of her eye. She released her bottom lip from its trapped location between her teeth. Then, with a deep breath, the words tumbled out and he let them flow, catching pieces, what he hoped were the right pieces, and tried to place them together in some semblance of importance.

"I didn't know who else to ask. I didn't know where to wait. I knew you'd be back soon and I didn't have much time and I couldn't keep pacing the hallway because everyone was looking at me funny and I thought maybe if I just waited inside because I wasn't going to be long. I mean… you told me once I could… if I needed to… So, so I did… but I guess I shouldn't have… I mean that _was_ completely wrong… now, looking back, but I didn't at the time… so I sat down, and I waited. I saw your collection. On the table. By the chair. And the one… this one… it looked so much like Papa's knife. I just picked it up. I started thinking about Papa. About his knife. About you and yours and wondering how you managed to hide the damn things all over the place without cutting yourself and for some god-awful reason I stuck it in my sock, just like I had with Papa's knife when I was little. It's where I carried it. In my sock. I just slipped it in there. And I got to thinking about Papa and everything else and I guess I must have fallen asleep. I mean, I did fall asleep. I didn't mean to. And then well, you came back and I sort of forgot I had it. And I didn't mean to take it. I wasn't planning on keeping it-"

"Jennifer." He gave her hip a shake, bringing her out of her babbling.

She stilled, her voice trailing off as she stared down into her hands.

She slowly released her grip on the hilt and held the knife out to him. "I'm sorry."

"I don't care about the knife." He growled, wincing when it came off much lounder than he intended.

She hesitated, her fingers wavering slightly. She lowered the dagger, her hand resting on her thigh.

"The knife is just an object." He ammended. "It's just a thing. It's replaceable. _You're_ not." He willed her to understand. Knowing he was going to be making his own confession soon enough. But first he needed her to realize he was not angry with her. If anything _she_ should be angry with _him_.

He watched her digsting his words, her bottom lip making the trip back up under her teeth.

"Now. What was it you wanted to ask me?"


	8. Chapter 8

_What was it you wanted to ask me?_

Jen rode the shiver as it traveled up her spine. Staring down at the shine of the lights reflecting off the silver blade, she wondered where to begin. _How_ to begin. She'd had so many questions yesterday, and even more today. But it all came down to one. One question. One hesitation. One insecurity.

Her thoughts jumbled together in a mix of memories and emotions, a waking nightmare as it flooded back, reflected in the shine of the dagger's sharp edge.

She'd been so lucky with Nichols gun. Didn't really have to aim it, and damn near fell on her ass when she tried. She just squeezed the trigger and closed her eyes. It wasn't until she heard the clicking that she realized it was done. It was over. And she stood there – just stood there like an idiot staring at the dead body – hoping to god it really was dead. Not even thinking about the fact that there could be more. More of them and she'd gone and emptied the gun. No more bullets.

Then Shara cried out – her pain, her fear – cutting the silence and bringing it all back into the present. She couldn't stop. Couldn't break. She was needed. They needed her help. No one else could help, could deliver the baby. She jumped from Shara, to the baby, to Captain Boyd, trying to save them. Praying she could save them all. She packed it all away and moved on.

The knife looked so clean now. So new. So… untarnished. There was no sign of the blood. The Wraith blood. The Wraith would feed on Zeeman and then surly turn to her next. She couldn't run – already having sprained her ankle. She had no other choice. She'd panicked. Had no weapon to grab this time. Nothing to use to save Captain Zeeman except the knife she'd tucked into her boot. Ronon's knife She'd reacted. Lashed out. She could still hear the screeching sound of the Wraith's furious scream when she'd imbedded the knife through the back of it's feeding hand and twisted frantically.

Ronon's blurry looking hand landed across hers, covering her fingers, covering the blade, breaking the visions with a violent snap. She slowly realized the reason she couldn't see clearly was due to the tears trailing down her cheeks. Seeing his hand, feeling his warmth, his strength, so close, so protective, somehow made it break.

Her sniff broke the silence.

"Damn it." She cursed the unstoppable tears. Cursed her weakness. Wiped madly at her eyes with the back of her hand.

Ronon removed the blade from between her fingers, and she finally let it go.

The bed shifted as he moved away, leaving her body to beg for the heat and security that suddenly disappeared. But his hand remained on her shoulder – his assurance that he wasn't leaving, he wasn't going away. He stepped in front of her, lowering himself quickly onto the bed on her opposite side. With his back against the wall, he reached forward, pulling her onto his lap, his arms tucking her against him. She shuddered into his warmth, burying her face against his chest.

-.-

"Hey." Ronon whispered into her hair after a few moments of silence. "You're okay."

She straightened and turned to face him, swiping away the tears, leaving her cheeks damp, her eyes fraught with emotion.

"I killed him…" She finally said, her voice quiet. "It. Him."

He tightened his arms and pulled her tightly in, laying his cheek against the top of her head. He could not truly understand what it must have taken for someone of her ilk to be the one to deliberately extinguish a life. Even a Wraith. It was something that never should have happened. She'd been around death – probably more than she'd ever admit. But to be the direct cause? It was an innocence she should never have lost, and would never get back.

"You had no choice." He said firmly.

"I…"

"No." He cut her off with a quick shake of his head, his chin rubbing across the top of her head. "You had no choice, Jennifer. It was him, or you. What do you call it on Earth? Personal… no self-defense?"

She nodded.

"You did what you had to do to protect yourself – and save lives." He continued softly. "It's what you do, Jennifer. You save lives. You saved _five_ people by killing that Wraith. _Your_ people. And a child. An infant, Jennifer. Never forget that."

She sagged against him in silence, twisting her fingers into the front of his shirt. After a few moments, she shook her head. Pushing lightly off him, she straightened, bringing her legs up closer to her chest. With one hand still fiddling with the front of his shirt, she toyed with the leather cord around his neck. He slowly tucked her hair in behind her ears, intrigued by the play of emotion across her face. In silence he waited, wishing he could hear what she was thinking. The emotions were easy to read, but he wished he could connect them as she was. Sadness and tears were slowly blinked away as she chewed her bottom lip. Then she released her lip and moved her eyes to a spot somewhere at the base of his neck. Then her brow furrowed and her tongue darted out then quickly disappeared. Tilting her head, she raised her eyebrows ever so slightly, her eyes darting first right, then left, then back to the right again. She lifted her chin, her head still leaning to the side as her eyes flickered up to meet his.

And with a suddenly clear expression, she straightened, her palms flattening against his chest.

"It's how _you_ do it, isn't it?" She finally asked. "By saving people."

He blinked. "Me?"

She nodded. "I don't know if I really understood before."

"Understood what?"

She hesitated again, suddenly unsure.

"Understood what?" He prompted.

"How you don't go insane." She said, then smiled slightly with a soft snort. "Sorry. That didn't come out right."

"Actually," He tilted his head. "It made perfect sense."

She shook her head. "I don't know. I just… I can't think straight right now. I keep seeing it… him… it's all jumbled up with the gunfire, and the explosions, and the baby. That beautiful little baby. It gives me a headache just thinking about it."

She trailed off, letting her thought die off in the silence.

"Why did you return to the planet?" He finally asked.

"Shara." She said simply. "The baby was in distress. They both could have died. I came back for supplies. Not that I was able to use them anyway."

"But you were injured. Why didn't you send someone else?"

"I won't ask someone to do something I'm capable of doing. I had to go back. She needed me."

The words sliced through him. She'd returned to a Wraith targeted planet because a stranger needed her. He'd pushed her away because she'd needed him. Because he'd been worried _he_ needed her to much. If she'd stayed for him, would she have left to help a stranger and nearly gotten herself killed? Probably not. Maybe.

He'd never know.

And he may have lost his chance to ever find out. After the way he'd reacted, she may never try again. That single thought cut him more deeply than he'd ever thought possible.

"I'm sorry." He swallowed hard.

She didn't immediately respond, but he saw a tiny crease appear above her eyes.

"What for?"

"I was angry." He answered, his arms tensing in their desire to pull her closer.

"You mean in your room?" She shook her head slowly. "No. That was my fault. I was way out of bounds."

"No." He shook his head, his tone stronger. "I was not… calm. I took it out on you."

She shifted slightly, moving her hips around so she was watching him more directly. Her position, so intimately pressed into his lap was starting to take its toll and he inhaled. The memory of how badly he'd wanted her, and how badly he still wanted her, was beginning to warm his blood. But her refusal to accept his part in the entire mess was starting to warm something else. His anger.

"Ronon." She shook her head, her eyes wide. "I overstepped. I just wanted to ask you a question and should have waited outside."

"Jennifer." He growled. "You're not the one who was wrong. I told you if you ever needed me you were welcome. I was… angry, yes. But not at you."

Her cool fingers suddenly covered his mouth and he felt a twist rising through his abdomen, crushing sudden though of grabbing them with his mouth.

"Ronon." She growled back at him, leaving him fighting a smile at her attempt to be gruff. She slowly removed her fingers. "I invaded your personal space and it wasn't fair. You had every right to be upset and angry with me. It won't happen again. I promise."

"Damn it, woman! Would you just let me apologize?" He ordered, his hands moving to wrap around her upper arms. "You startled me! I could have killed you! And to top it all off you disappeared to a damn Wraith infested planet without me. You have no idea what that thought is doing to me."

Her eyes fell, chastised, and he wished he could take it back.

"I'm sorry." She apologized, her voice soft with sincerity, her fingers dropping away from his chest to land in her lap.

Then he felt her body jump lightly, almost a hiccup, and when he looked closer, he noted she was fighting a smile.

"What?"

She giggled.

"What…"

The giggle turned into a laugh.

"Jennifer…" He growled, trying not to get caught up in the infectious draw of her amusement.

She looked up, her face breaking behind a smile.

"_I_ startled _you_." She snickered, covering her mouth with her hand, but the laughter escaped and she let it out, clasping her hands around her middle. "I'm sorry but that's just damn funny!"

He gaped, completely taken aback.

"You should see your face." She laughed harder, tears falling again but this time she didn't bother to stop them. The harder she laughed, the more she cried. At one point she wasn't even making any noise, just rocking back and forth in his arms, gasping for air, the tears freely falling. By the time the laughter, or the crying – he still wasn't sure which it was – abated, she was draped almost completely across him, her body limp with exertion.

He stared down into her face, her cheeks flushed and shining, and shook his head in wonder.

The woman was completely insane. He couldn't even begin to fathom how her mind worked, and after everything… _everything_… she was laughing because she'd gotten the jump on him?

Sheppard was right.

Women were illogical no matter what end of the universe they were from.

Ronon had absolutely no idea how to even answer her. Or if he _should_ answer her. Was he supposed to be angry? Upset? Pleased? Or… Ah, well. What did it matter?

She was here.

She was safe.

And he wasn't about to let her go.

She turned her head and settled against him, tightening her grip around his waist. "I'm sorry, Ronon." She hiccupped into the side of his neck. "I'm not making fun of you. I'm just… I'm so brain dead I don't know what I'm saying. I… I think I just need some sleep. Come back in a few hours and I promise to let you yell at me all you want."

He snorted and adjusted his arms around her. He wasn't going anywhere.

A few minutes later she muttered something and twisted sideways, curling into a ball in his lap and burying her face against his neck. Swiping his hand over the light control on the table beside her bed, he dropped the room into darkness. Shifting positions, he slowly slid himself down the bed and pulled her along with him. He gently tucked her against his side, and hooking her blanket with his foot he covered her body, tucking the covers lightly around her.

She burrowed sleepily against him, her head on his shoulder. Snaking her arm out from beneath the blanket, she splayed her fingers on his chest. He reached up and covered her hand with his, pressing her palm against his heat, her skin soft and cool.

"Ronon?" She whispered softly.

"Yes?"

"Stay?" Her plea pulled at his heart. "Just 'til I fall asleep?"

"I'm not going anywhere." He pledged softly, his fingers squeezing hers.

She inhaled slowly then sighed, her body slumping further.

"Jennifer?" He whispered into her hair, wondering if she was still awake.

"Hmm?" She answered, her chest rising with a deep, slow breath.

"Yesterday, when you came to see me. What was your question?"

She shook her head, mumbling against his chest. "Not important."

"Tell me."

She yawned. "I know now."

"Know what?" He prompted softly.

She nuzzled her nose against his side. "How to kill a Wraith."

His breath caught. "What?

"That's what I wanted to ask you. How you're supposed to kill them. Anything specific. You know, like zombies or vampires. Chop off their head or um… steak to the heart. Silver bullet."

"That's what you wanted to ask me."

She nodded.

"Why me?"

"You wouldn't laugh."

He blinked up into the darkness. He wouldn't laugh? No. He wouldn't have laughed. He would have demanded answers, and forced her to stay behind – or stay behind him. Either way she wouldn't have returned to the planet without him. Which brought out a second question, one he needed to voice.

"Why didn't you ask me to come with you?"

She shrugged. "Too dangerous."

His head shot up off the pillow. "What?"

She snorted, turning her hand to thread her fingers through his, her knuckles grazing the skin over his heart.

"You're crazy, you know that?" He shook his head.

She giggled.

"Promise me something."

She nodded.

"Next time you get the urge to go traipsing around a Wraith infested planet, you'll at least _tell_ me first?"

"And if you toss me out before I can?"

"I hear you're good with a knife. Use it."

She snorted. "Yeah, but then I'd feel all guilty… and have to stitch you up."

He grinned up at the ceiling.

"Jennifer?"

"Hmm?"

"Go to sleep."

.

.

.

_**Author's Note** - Well there you have it. Questions asked, and answers given. :P Thank you for coming along on this little plot-bunny ride with me! :) I hope you enjoyed it! I'm thinking the knife may come up again in another story because I feel another plot bunny coming on. :) Apologies for any typo's - it's after 1am and I'm a little sleepy! G'nite all, and have a fab week! So, until the next story, I'll say ciao! - Nika_


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